by Eva Charles
Not much came as a surprise today. Even in cheap, rumpled clothes, fresh off an overnight flight where she was packed like a sardine in economy, she was gorgeous. Her body is curvier than when I last saw her up close. She’s a woman now—there’s nothing left of that girl I kissed in her father’s office.
I watched from afar as it happened. The team in the US sent regular updates, sometimes with photos or videos. And just last year I personally delivered a few cases of Port to a friend who owns a club in Charleston, South Carolina. After the visit, I had the pilot divert my plane to a small airport outside of Fall River. I rented a car and parked down the street from where Daniela lived—and waited for her to get home from her second job.
It was well after eleven when she got off the bus and trudged the four blocks to her house. There were six inches of dirty snow on the ground, and the temperature was in the single digits. Her coat didn’t look anywhere near warm enough to ward off that kind of bitter cold.
As she trekked down the dimly lit street, the wind howled, stirring something primal in me. It took everything I had not to get out of the car, toss her over my shoulder, and bring her home.
It’s not that it was such a dreadful life, but it wasn’t the one she was born to live.
What did come as a surprise, in the lawyer’s office, was how easy it was for her to slip under my skin again. I’m older now too. Smarter. At least I like to think so. But I reacted to her today the same way I did six years ago. My brain. My body. My goddamn emotions—it all went to shit quickly.
I’m not someone who has made it this far because I’m a hothead. I can be. When it’s just Cristiano, Lucas, and me in the villa, I often let down my guard, and if a particular situation warrants me acting out of control, I will. Otherwise, I make decisions with a cool head and ice water in my veins—unless Daniela’s in arm’s reach, pushing my buttons.
The damn woman knows how to get to me, and she’s not afraid of rousing my worst instincts. She’s a problem. A huge fucking problem.
But that’s about to change.
I run a Port empire, the ancient city, and every corner of the surrounding valley with an iron fist. Nothing stands in my way—not for long. Taming the D’Sousa princesa is the least of my worries.
You want to go to war with me? Good luck, Princesa.
9
Daniela
Once we’re outside the city limits, there are no cars on the road. By European standards, it’s still quite early, and the valley is rural, far less densely populated than the city of Porto. It’s the ideal location to hold a prisoner.
When the car turns in to an unmarked driveway, I’m not quite ready. The ride has been at once too long and too short for someone like me, faced with the unknown.
The driver slows as he approaches a set of security gates. Before we come to a complete stop, armed guards flank the vehicle.
Growing up, our home was heavily guarded, but not like this. We didn’t visit the Huntsmans’ often—at least I didn’t—but I don’t remember their house having this level of security either. Antonio must have more enemies than my father, or his. Or maybe the times are more dangerous.
One of the soldiers exchanges a few words with Cristiano. When they’re done, he glances at me in the backseat before motioning to someone in the guardhouse. The gates open, and we proceed up the long cobblestone driveway.
“This is Antonio’s home?”
Cristiano nods. “I believe he expects it to be your home too.”
And I expect a knight in shining armor to swoop down and rescue me from the evil villain, but that’s not happening either.
While the setting is vaguely familiar, this is not where Antonio grew up. I’m a bit surprised. He’s an only child, and I assumed, with his mother remarried and living in London, he would have taken over the property. It’s been in her family for ages.
Add it to the ever-growing list of things you’ve been wrong about today.
As the nervous energy begins to take root, sitting still is becoming difficult. I stare out the window, distracting myself with the scenery and trying to get the lay of the land.
It’s still too early in spring for lush plantings, but the property is exquisite. Although it’s not the budding camellias that hold my attention but the guard posts that ring the perimeter. They appear to be the highest points on the estate. While they’re some distance apart, escaping without being seen will be difficult.
Difficult but not impossible. Even a fortified estate has weak spots. They’re often discovered by children playing or teenage sweethearts eager to be alone—or by a mother and daughter wanting to pick wildflowers on a sunny day without an entourage of armed men tagging along.
Not now, Daniela. You need to stay focused on the surroundings. It could be the difference between freedom and captivity.
The house is on a hill, set back from the road. From a distance, it’s little more than an amorphous blob on the horizon. But as we get closer, the three sprawling stories begin to take shape.
It’s not a house at all, but a castle, with warm taupe trim that pops against the creamy stone exterior. The four square turrets, one on each wing, are straight out of a fairy tale.
I guess it shouldn’t be surprising that the man who fancies himself a king would live in a castle.
The driver pulls up under an ivy-covered portico, and Cristiano gets out. When the lock clicks, he opens my door.
“How long has Antonio lived here?” I ask as we walk to the entryway.
“He’s owned it for some time. The grapes used to produce Huntsman white Port are grown here.”
Cristiano holds open the door, and we’re greeted by an older man with a warm smile, who Cristiano introduces as Victor. He wasn’t gray then, but I vaguely remember him as the Huntsmans’ butler.
“It’s an honor to meet you again, senhora,” he says. “I met your parents on several occasions and admired your mother’s work with the poor. The people of the valley owe her much gratitude. Your father too. He was a great man.”
He was a great man. I once thought so too.
I bite my tongue and smile. It’s a small, pathetic curl of my mouth, but under the circumstances it’s the best I can do.
“Hello, Victor. It’s very nice to meet you too. Thank you for your kind words about my parents.”
“We’ve been very excited about your arrival. I hope everything is to your liking. If not, please let me know, and I’ll take care of it immediately.”
I want to cling to his arm and beg him to help me. But that’s not how it works. Victor’s here because he’s loyal. Antonio would never allow anyone inside his home, where he sleeps, unless he fully trusted them. That’s how it was in my father’s house, and I guarantee that’s how it is here too.
Cristiano excuses himself after telling me that he’ll be available if I have questions.
My mouth is bone-dry as I watch him walk away. “When will I see you again?” I call after him before he disappears out the door.
He stops and turns. “You’re in good hands. Victor can call me if you need something that he can’t help you with. He knows how to reach me.”
I want to beg him to stay, although I don’t know why. He hasn’t been exactly forthcoming, and in the short time we were together, he threatened me more than once. Victor seems like he’ll be more sympathetic to my situation.
I take a step toward him. “Please don’t forget to contact Isabel.”
“It’s already been done,” he assures me, kindly.
I nod and pull back my shoulders as the door closes behind Cristiano. Reality is setting in, and I’m feeling a little teary.
“Please don’t worry, senhora,” Victor clucks. “We’ll take good care of you. You have my word.”
I feel my head bob up and down as though it has a mind of its own.
“Menina,” Victor calls crisply, motioning to a young woman who has been standing at the edge of the room since I arrived.
“Paula is new
to the house,” he explains after he introduces us. “Senhor Huntsman doesn’t normally have female guests here for any extended period of time.”
I’m sure Antonio only keeps his female guests around until he’s satisfied. I have no doubt they’re long gone by breakfast.
“The upper residence,” he continues, “is normally staffed by men, but we wanted you to be comfortable, so we assigned Paula to the wing where your suite is located.”
He’s treating this as though I’m an important houseguest, here for a vacation in the countryside. It’s nearly impossible to keep secrets from the indoor staff, especially from someone like Victor, who’s clearly in charge of running the house. How much does he know?
“She’ll be up to speed in no time,” he adds, “but if you would be so kind as to give her some grace while she learns your routine, we would be most appreciative.”
“Of course,” I reply, and smile at Paula, who I need to win over quickly. She could be an ally, if I play my cards right.
“You’ve traveled a long way. I have fresh coffee and a little something for you to eat before we give you a tour of the house and show you to your room so you can rest.”
I don’t want coffee. I don’t want a little something to eat. I don’t want a tour of the house. And I couldn’t care less about my room. But it would be rude and ungrateful to say so, and I need to gain both Victor’s and Paula’s trust if I ever expect to get out of here.
“That sounds wonderful. Thank you.”
Wonderful is a gross exaggeration, but the sooner I learn the layout of the house, and the routine, the sooner I can make an escape plan.
10
Daniela
Ninety minutes later, we arrive at the third-floor suite that will be my prison until I can convince Antonio to let me go back to the US, or until I take matters into my own hands.
We enter through a spacious sitting room with a Persian rug that looks like it would feel heavenly under bare feet. The walls are the palest blue, embellished with creamy panels and gold leaf trim. Three enormous windows overlook a garden with a bubbling fountain.
It doesn’t look at all like a cell.
“Most of the fireplaces on this floor have been converted to gas so they can be used by anyone without too much fuss.” He walks over to the mantel and holds up a small object. “The remote is here. You shouldn’t have any trouble with it.”
I follow him into a bedroom that’s large and airy, and every bit as lovely as the sitting area. Victor crosses the room and opens a set of French doors that lead to a balcony with a bistro table and two wrought-iron chairs.
“The view of the river from here is something,” he says, almost to himself. “It’s a bit cool at this time of year, but on a warm day, the tiles absorb the sunlight, and it can be a pleasant spot for afternoon tea.”
As I peek over the railing, I don’t imagine myself enjoying tea, not on this balcony anyway. But the drop to the ground is too far to contemplate, unless a prince taps on my window one night. Unlikely, since princes seem to be in short supply here.
By the time we finish touring the dressing room, I’m speechless. I don’t know if it’s the designer clothing hanging neatly along an entire wall, or the well-equipped bathroom with a soaking tub and walk-in shower, larger than the bathroom I share with Isabel and Valentina. But either way, I’m completely overwhelmed.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been in rooms this luxurious. Even the houses I clean for wealthy families aren’t this lavish.
The guest suite is stunning. Immaculately renovated, with no cost spared to make visitors comfortable. No one would argue that point. But I’m not a guest. I’m a prisoner.
Antonio can dress it up any way he chooses. He can call me his fiancée, wife, mistress, whore, whatever suits him, but I’m being held against my wishes. That makes me a prisoner.
I glance around the room, chiding myself for admiring the bookshelf nestled in the corner behind a tufted chair and ottoman.
Not all prisons are austere, with iron bars and concrete walls. Some cages are gilded, surrounded by saltwater pools and flowering shrubbery. Lavish surroundings can trick the mind into believing it’s free. But even great opulence can’t fool the soul. My confinement will be luxurious, but I will be confined.
“Is there something special you would like me to prepare for your lunch?” Victor asks, pulling me out of the malaise.
“I’m not fussy. I eat anything. Please don’t go to any trouble for me.”
“Cooking for you is an honor. Is there anything you need before we let you rest?”
I shake my head, but there is one thing. “What time will Antonio be home?”
Victor’s brow furrows. “I’m not expecting Senhor Huntsman today.”
What? I feel my lungs deflate. How can I negotiate with him if he’s not here?
“Victor, would it be possible for me to speak with him?”
“You’d like to speak with Senhor Huntsman?”
His smile is stiff, and I can tell I’ve put him in a bad position.
“I’m sorry, but I do need to talk to him, please.”
The polite, soft-spoken man hesitates for a long moment. He’s preparing to tell me it’s not possible to reach Antonio. I’m sure it’s a lie.
His Adam’s apple bobs before he utters a word. “I can reach Cristiano,” he says finally, pulling a phone out of his back pocket. “He’ll know if Senhor Huntsman is available.”
While Victor speaks to Cristiano, I think about how I might be able to steal his phone for an hour to call Isabel. I need to keep my eyes open for an opportunity. I glance at Paula. It might be easier to take her phone. Maybe she’ll lend it to me.
“Cristiano would like to speak with you,” he says kindly.
My hand shakes—part fear and part fury—as I take the phone. From the corner of my eye, I see Victor shoo Paula out and move to the edge of the room to give me privacy.
I don’t bother with niceties. “I want to speak to your boss.”
“I have no boss.” The voice is deep and smooth, with an icy glaze that makes me shiver. “I’m a busy man. I expect you to save your neediness for my bed.” He pauses. “But since you just arrived, I’ll make a concession. What can I do for you, Daniela?”
You can get me some rope so I can strangle you.
“I hoped we would revisit the arrangement once I was here, but Victor says he’s not expecting you today.”
“Victor isn’t at liberty to discuss my comings and goings.”
Fuck you.
“We need to talk. I want to do it as soon as possible. I’m a prisoner here. I won’t put up with it forever.”
“You’ll put up with what I say you’ll put up with—all of it. And if I were in your shoes, I would remember who I was speaking with, and I’d think twice before I opened my mouth. You’re in no position to make demands on me or my time.”
My head is about to explode.
“You would do well to remember who you’re speaking with too.” I don’t raise my voice, but my tone is firm. “I’m a human being. Not a cat you keep in the barn to chase mice. My family is as important as yours in this valley. I won’t allow you to treat me like an animal.”
I stop for a breath and brace myself for his response. But there’s nothing.
“When can we talk?”
Still nothing.
It takes me much too long to realize he’s gone.
11
Antonio
What the fuck?
I toss the phone back to Cristiano.
How dare she demand to talk to me. How dare she demand anything of me. In front of the staff, no less.
She grew up in this world. She’s not some innocent who doesn’t understand the dangers of challenging me publicly. She’s a grown woman who knows damn well it weakens me every time someone, anyone, questions my authority and I don’t act. It invites other people to test me, too, with more than a sassy mouth.
Damn woman.
“Antonio,” Lucas calls, yanking me out of my head, but not out of my foul mood.
“What?” I snap.
He glances at me from across the table, but he knows better than to call me out on my temper. Although his expression says plenty.
“The maid, Isabel, is in a panic about Daniela staying longer than planned.”
“I care about this why?”
I know why I should care about it, but I’m aggravated, and I want to take it out on Daniela’s ass. But she’s not here, so Lucas is bearing the brunt of my ire.
“Why?” He raises his brow. “Because panicky people do rash things. What if she goes to the police? We have people on the ground in Fall River who could get caught up in an investigation. I don’t like it.”
He’s right, of course. But I’ll be goddamned before I tell the insolent bastard.
I draw a deep breath. “What exactly did you say when you contacted the maid?”
“I sent a text as Daniela and explained there had been a small delay with the paperwork. I also told her that between the poor reception and the time difference, speaking by phone would be difficult.”
“So what’s the fucking problem?”
“She texted back that she’s nervous for the kid, and she’s worried about Daniela’s safety. I have a dozen texts from her since then.”
“Pull our people out. Then if she goes to the police, there are no issues.” I glare at Lucas. “But she’s not going to the police. She has forged documents. She’s too afraid of the INS tossing her in jail.”
“They’ll be out by the end of the day,” he mutters, banging on the keyboard.
“Keep one or two people behind to watch the house,” I add, “in case someone comes looking for Daniela. Everyone else is done.”
